The Ghost in Tony's Kitchen
by RebelzHeart
Summary: In which post-IW, Peter becomes a ghost.


He is sitting on the kitchen counter when Tony gets back, hair mussed up and a hoodie haphazardly tossed over his spider suit, as though that would do anything for his identity.

Oh.

Great.

Tony's hallucinating.

"Before you ask," the hallucination says, in that fast, breathless type of way that Peter always used to talk when he felt he had to explain things, "I'm not a hallucination."

"That is what you would say if you were a hallucination," Tony says, because he is tired and weary and does not need to deal with this shit right now.

"No, I'm not—" The hallucination frowns as Tony moves to the kitchen, opening the cupboards and looking for his whiskey, clattering and moving and. He isn't sure what he's doing, really. "You're not looking for junk food, are you, Mr. Stark?"

"Fuck this," Tony mumbles, "I'm drinking myself 'till Cap calls his meeting or whatever."

"Meeting. To beat the purple dude who killed half the world?"

Tony shrugs. Runs his fingers through his hair. Closes his eyes. Maybe if he ignores it, the hallucination will cease to exist.

"Oh. Yeah. That would be cool. Super cool. I, like, pass through things? But it's not, like, a power, because I can't control it. It's kind of annoying, actually. I mean, you know that scene in Danny Phantom when…"

"Christ," Tony mumbles, "You talk almost as much as the real kid."

Something clogs in his throat, tight and wrong, and he can't look at the figure on his kitchen counter, staring at his glass as he fills it up with some expensive wine or whatever.

"I am the real kid," The hallucination says, sounding offended.

"You're a," Tony waves a hand, scrunching up his nose, "Manifestation of my memories or whatever. I don't know. Some science bullshit to explain that I'm crazy."

"Wow, Mr. Stark," The hallucination brings up one leg and rests its chin on its knee, "You are very practical. And I totally admire that. Usually, I mean. Because you don't think I'm real right now. Which makes this very annoying. Because I am. You know. Real."

"Right," Tony lifts the glass the his lips, and then, suddenly, it's on the floor, smashed.

Tony stares at it, spilling across the kitchen tiles, red and shiny and glass everywhere and…

"Oh," The hallucination's voice goes small, eyes wide when Tony looks up. Somehow, it has gotten very close, a hand held midair, like it's unsure where to go, floating in front of Tony, a good foot or so off the ground, "Oops. I didn't mean to. I mean, I meant to. But I didn't. I mean. Um."

"What the fuck," Tony says. His hands are shaking.

He must have… he must have dropped it, because of shaky hands or, or because…

"Sorry," The hallucination colours, "I just, you were drinking, and you've been sober for so long and…"

"Go away," Tony hisses, shutting his eyes, "Go away, go away, go…"

"I'm real," the hallucination says, quiet and grieving.

It reaches out, hands a little transparent now that Tony looks a bit more closely, and Tony flinches back, but the hand goes right through him. His chest, where it touches, feels oddly cold, as though something metallic left in the snow has been pressed to his skin.

Okay.

Um.

This is low key freaky.

The hallucination lowers its eyes, frowning, eyebrows furrowed, and reaches out to touch the fridge, looking frustrated when its hand passes right through. "I touched the glass," it mutters, "Maybe it's random?"

Tony is not listening to this. He leave the kitchen, ignoring the sting of his feet and the hallucination's scandalized you have to be careful, Mr. Stark!, slowly making his way to his sofa, where he sits and buries his face in his hands. "Christ," he mutters.

And then, again, for good measure.

"Christ."

He didn't think he'd be this attached.

Not enough to… to hallucinate the kid. To actually see him, like this, in front of his eyes, to have it seem like he could just reach out and touch…

"If you're not a hallucination, then you're a ghost, right?" Tony asks bitterly, eyes on the ground through a half lidded stare. "Here to haunt me because it was my fault that you died?"

And the ghost, the hallucination, whatever the fuck it is, goes utterly silent.

Tony can hear his breath, measured and harsh, and there is no other sound because whether ghost or hallucination, the kid cannot breathe any more.

Then, sharp, pained, "No. No, no, Mr. Stark, that wasn't it. I just— I— I don't know what else to do. I just appeared here, and, I, I don't know whether it's because I didn't die normally or because I took too long or…" he sucks in a breath, long and sharp, "I can leave if you want me to."

And it sounds so regretful, so childishly mourning, that Tony can't help himself from saying, "You can stay," which is irrational, really, because he's not real.

He can't be.

Tony shuts his eyes and then that cold, metallic feeling rests on his shoulder, the ghost or whatever touching him, and then Peter says, "I, um, just, sorry, this is super awkward, but, um, I have some library books that I need to return and…"

"You're dead," Tony reminds him, "It's not like you'll be charged."

"Well, yeah, but," Peter frowns, "Sorry. That was rude. You're mourning me and everything. Well. Um. That's kind of awkward. Since I'm here and stuff. You're not having a funeral for me or anything, are you? I don't think you should. Since I'm here and all."

Chatty as ever.

Except he's dead.

Haha.

"I need to," Tony's fingers begin drumming on his pant legs and he shuts his eyes, "I need to work on the suit. I need to do something, I need to…"

Then there is the sensation of hands on his cheeks, and there's ghost-Peter's fingers on his face and what. "It's alright, Mr. Stark," ghost-Peter says, "It's alright to panic. But we should find someone who can, um, actually touch you."

And with the reminder, the feeling of hands on his cheeks fades, leaving only cold behind.

"Yeah," Tony says shakily, eyes wide, "Yeah. Okay."

So he and the ghost walk into the halls, side by side.


End file.
